


Captivating

by Woofemus



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:05:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15451992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woofemus/pseuds/Woofemus
Summary: "Would you like a dance?"





	Captivating

**Author's Note:**

> hi I'm thirsty

The beds at the inn are still much more preferable to the hard grounds of the wildlife, Ophilia finds. She’d been more than ready and thought herself prepared for traveling out into the wilderness, but she finds things are much different when the ground is not covered in the snow she has known her whole life.

Beds are most certainly a missed comfort. Ophilia nearly groans with relief when she sits down onto one of the ones in the room, relishing in it even if the mattress has a firmer hardness than she is used to.

“Not used to traveling, Sister?”

Ophilia looks up to see Primrose, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room, watching her—ah, yes, they agreed to stay in the same room, Ophilia remembers.

“Just Ophilia is fine, Primrose,” she says with a smile. It warms her slightly when she sees Primrose return it.

“Then, Ophilia,” she says. “Haven’t been traveling for long?”

“I have not, this is the first time I’ve traveled outside of my town.” Ophilia smiles shyly, sure that her naivety and lack of knowledge must have been obvious. “How long have you been traveling?”

“The same as you, I suppose. Not for very long.” She glances away, muttering, “At least, not for my own pleasure.”

Ophilia isn’t sure if she’s meant to hear that. She doesn’t think so, and pretends not to, exclaiming instead, “Really? I… I would have thought that you… had much more experience with the world.”

“Oh?” Primrose hums, and smiles in amusement. Ophilia feels embarrassed for assuming.

“... it only means that we’ll be learning the same things together, doesn’t it, Ophilia?” Primrose finally says. When Ophilia looks up at Primrose in surprise, Primrose is smiling gently at her. For all her usual stoicism, Primrose is a very kind person, Ophilia’s learned, and it makes her all the more glad that she, too, gets to experience their travels together.

“Yes, you’re right. I look forward to everyday, traveling together like this,” Ophilia says, as earnestly as she can. She really does mean it, being able to travel together with their group, being able to travel with Primrose, must surely be a blessing from Aelfric himself.

So, she hopes it will be no offense if Ophilia were allowed a moment to indulge her curiosity.

“Forgive me for my curiosity, but… may I ask something of you, Primrose?”

“Yes, of course. You need not feel shy in my presence,” Primrose says. Ophilia almost feels herself falter, another blush coming across her cheeks. If she feels shy in Primrose’s presence it is… because…

Ophilia has yet to figure that out—or, rather, she doesn’t want to think about that right now. In any case, Primrose is waiting for her question, and Ophilia feels the need to ask, burning at the tip of her tongue.

“What manner of dance do you perform?”

If Primrose seems surprised by her question, she’s doing a good job of hiding it. Instead, she crosses her arms, and regards Ophilia carefully.

“Where do you come from, Ophilia?” she asks. Ophilia nearly startles at the sudden question, not expecting one to be asked of _her_.

“I hail from the Frostlands, from the town of Flamesgrace. I…” Here, Ophilia still cannot help but pause, swallowing slightly to make it through the knot that still forms when she thinks of her childhood. “I was raised with the clergy.”

“... the Frostlands?” For some reason, Primrose seems startled by that, staring at her strangely. Ophilia wonders what of it, but Primrose is only shaking her head afterward. “Apologies, the Frostlands is merely where my next destination is.”

“Ah… it’s very cold up there. You’ll most likely need…” and here, Ophilia cannot help but eye Primrose up and down. Even the very sight of her garments, so bare and loose, almost leaving very little to the imagination, makes Ophilia blush. “T-thicker garments to survive the, er, trek.” Her stammers make her blush even worse.

From Primrose’s vision, she wonders how she must seem: like a child full of naive wonder trying to navigate the unknown world, or someone whose heart is too kind for the harsh cruelties of reality? Ophilia cannot help but compare herself, especially when she is next to Primrose, someone so brave and incredible. 

Primrose kicks herself off the wall, regards Ophilia for a moment that feels far too long for Ophilia's liking. Finally, she walks over to Ophilia— _saunters_ is more the apt description, and yet, each step feels measured. There’s a slight sway to her hips. Ophilia, somehow, wonders for a moment if this is how the other woman walks or if she’s exaggerating her gait, but as Primrose struts closer, Ophilia starts to find it very hard to focus on that thought any longer.

As often as they do, her eyes trail downward Primrose’s body, blush rising when her eyes roam over the smooth plane of Primrose’s midriff, before following the line of Primrose’s bare leg. Being from the Frostlands leaves Ophilia not accustomed to such… _sparse_ clothing, and _especially_ in the manner of dress Primrose wears. It is shameful to be staring so openly, but Ophilia cannot tear her eyes away from the beauty in front of her.

Primrose looms over her. Ophilia can hardly dare to breathe but she takes the chance, to look up, and meet Primrose’s eyes.

“You say you are from the clergy?” Primrose asks. Ophilia cannot finds words to come to her so all she can do is nod slowly. Primrose makes a sound, something that sounds like a short amused laugh before she stops, and looks at Ophilia once more. “Would you like a dance, then?”

Within Primrose’s eyes, there is… something strange. Ophilia is hesitant to accept, but she’s still more than curious. A flurry of emotions rush through Ophilia. She’s never felt this way before. Primrose continues to stare down at her, something dark and heated within those eyes that make Ophilia tremble with anticipation and… fear? No, Primrose would never hurt her, she knows that, but Ophilia cannot help but be… apprehensive.

Still, even so, Ophilia nods, swallowing thickly.

A change comes over Primrose, so minute that if Ophilia were not already staring so intently at her, she would have never caught it. She still cannot tell what sort of emotion is meant to be on Primrose’s face, still unreadable to her.

The air between them feels… electrifying, like someone’s cast a lightning spell and all of Ophilia’s senses and hairs are standing on end. She’s aware of almost everything, down to the way Primrose makes a small hum as she breathes out through her nose like a quiet sigh, to the slight ruffle Primrose’s dress makes as she moves, to the jangle the accessories Primrose wears make…

It is… _exciting._

“I charge for a private show, you know.”

So caught up in the mood that it takes a moment for Ophilia to even realize that Primrose’s spoken.

“O-oh! Then, I, um…” Ophilia can feel her blush reaching to her ears even as she turns toward her pouch. “F-forgive me, I had not known you did! I would have prepared beforehand—I mean, I did not think to—”

A hand touches Ophilia’s wrist, just firm enough to make her pause. Ophilia looks up, and suddenly finds Primrose much closer than before. She can recognize the look in Primrose’s eyes now, one of amusement. “I merely jest, Ophilia,” she speaks.

“Oh!” Ophilia thinks her whole face might just be red instead. “You were teasing!”

“Apologies, I couldn’t help it,” Primrose says, chuckling. The touch disappears from Ophilia’s hand, but Primrose doesn’t move away, keeping close. Ophilia feels her breath catching again, as her eyes wander over Primrose’s features instead, so striking and lovely that Ophilia feels more embarrassed at holding the gaze of such a beautiful lady.

Then, Primrose leans closer. Somehow, her hand is back on Ophilia, on her arm, trailing up her shoulder, perhaps to steady herself. Ophilia can’t think about what Primrose’s hand is doing, not when Primrose is moving her face closer, closer, _closer_ —

She moves past Ophilia’s face. Strands of her hair brush against Ophilia’s cheeks, and it takes all of Ophilia’s willpower to not jump at the ticklish sensations.The hand on her shoulder is still there, but Ophilia thinks it might have also moved closer toward her neck, fingers almost grazing her skin.

“But, of course, Ophilia... I’d be more than happy to put on a show for you,” Primrose murmurs right into her ear, and the way her voice is so, so low, the way she leans close to whisper and Ophilia can feel her breath graze past her ears…

Ophilia suddenly feels as if a fire's been lit within her. Her hands, she’s filled with a sudden longing to lay them over Primrose, to bring her close, itching to touch the woman before her, to run her fingers down the muscles and scars of her body. She’s never felt this way before. Ophilia is at a loss, and yet, there is a burning ache within her, a thirst where water will not quench her.

The Flamebearer, indeed.

Yet, still, Ophilia cannot even begin to move, still utterly captivated. Primrose moves away from her—no, it’s more akin to almost gliding away, doing so with such practiced ease that the motion seems so fluid, almost like water. Her body is swaying, and Ophlia follows every movement, unable to tear her eyes away. Primrose lifts her hand away from Ophilia’s shoulder. It feels so cold.

Instead, she brings that same hand over to Ophilia’s face, leaving featherlight touches upon her heated skin. They dance upon her before descending to cup her chin and beckon for Ophilia to look up, to keep her eyes on the woman in front of her. One of the corners of Primrose’s lips quirk upward, a smirk, and it feels as if a bolt of lightning is surging through Ophilia instead as she hitches her breath.

“Are you ready? Make sure to watch me.” Her voice is low, much lower than Ophilia expected. A shiver runs through Ophilia, her mind reeling. She’s been unable to focus, unable to find herself properly, unable to think about anything past how nice Primrose’s touches are.

“I…” Ophilia cannot speak, her tongue feels far too heavy, her throat too dry, her mind too incoherent. She cannot… she would like… to continue—no—

Primrose pulls away suddenly.

The spell is broken.

Ophilia gasps, blinking owlishly up at her. When her mind has caught up to everything that’s happened, an embarrassed squeak escapes out of her and immediately covers her hands with her face. _Now_ she understands just how Primrose can attract and captivate mere strangers so.

“I… I’m—” Ophilia shakes her head. “I… f-forgive me, I do not think I am… ah, quite ready for this yet.”

And Primrose laughs, low and throaty, as if she’s expected this. “Haha! Don’t worry, I was teasing you again. My apologies, I couldn’t help it.”

“Oh!” Ophilia’s blush worsens but she knows it isn’t entirely out of embarrassment this time. “Then, ah, that wasn’t what you, ah, would do, um, on a—” Ophilia wishes her tongue would stop tripping over itself. But Primrose seems to understand her words well enough.

“Hm…” Primrose looks down at her, and once more, Ophilia shivers under her gaze. Her eyes, they are intense, as if trying to peer past her but also taking all of her in. Underneath such a powerful stare of a beautiful woman, it makes Ophilia feel both weak and emboldened.

Especially when Primrose only gives her one of her secretive half-smiles as she answers, “I was only making it up. But if you’re ever ready, I’ll have a dance, just for you.” Within her voice is a tease, yes, but also a promise, one Ophilia intends to keep.

“I will hold you to that,” Ophilia whispers, and Primrose only laughs again, a warm sound that sends Ophilia’s already taken heart fluttering.


End file.
